


Fundraising and Extra Mouths

by InterNutter



Series: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling [5]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Birth, F/M, Prejudice, baby robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brief war hit the Walter household hard, and with twins on the way, Peter and Iris need a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fundraising and Extra Mouths

Disclaimer: Steam Powered Giraffe belongs to the Bennetts. I just do this stuff.

Fundraising and Extra Mouths

InterNutter

  There was a rule. The time spent in mourning the loss of a relationship was a fraction of the time that that relationship lasted. For every year, the mourner was allowed a month. For every month, a week. For every week, a day.  
  Iris wasn't certain that rule applied to automatons. Even automatons who had been together with the object of their desire for eight minutes.  
  It was a silent and sullen journey back to the mansion. During which poor Rabbit slid into Stasis at long last, held in his twin brother's arms.  
  Three and Four were holding each other, too. More to show allegiance to their older brothers than any need for comfort. She stared sullenly at darling Peter and kept a weather eye on Rabbit.  
  Her eyes said, _I tried to warn you._  
  His eyes said, _I know. I'm sorry._  
  Rabbit had knocked his jaw off in the fall that had smashed Jenny. He'd need fixing when they had the chance. But the poor boy had been essentially sleepless for a week or more. Rest would heal his wounded emotions. Pappy could fix his copper body after that.  
  And in a bag, wrapped up in dear Peter's coat, were the shattered remains of the toaster Rabbit had loved. He'd take no replacement. He'd insisted on *that* one.  
  There was only one Jenny.  
  And what to do with her - it - perplexed Iris to no end.  
  Peter could try and rebuild it - her. They could discretely dispose of the shattered parts. Iris had an illogical thought of holding a funeral somewhere on the estate. No. Best not drag this sort of thing out.  
  
  The finances were edging towards negative. Even with Four's magic hatch producing the food for everyone, the war had hit them hard. The government still demanded taxes on what they owned. And employees needed paying. And venues needed renting...  
  And even the little bits and bobs that the automatons needed, cost.  
  There had to be something they could do...  
  Three, slouched artistically in the window, nearby, was noodling around with notes on his mandolin.  
  "...blue ribbons in the apple sky," he sang, "One thing is on my mi-hind..."  
  
  "A what?"  
  "A show. Put on a show. We can start in the Walter Mechanicals lecture hall. Charge the people a penny for the back seats and a nickel for the front rows. Three, four sets a day. The boys can play known songs, their new songs. It's certain to be a draw. Even the bizarre ones that Three comes up with."  
  "I never made them for public performances," objected Peter.  
  "But you did make them to perform."  
  Peter boggled at her. "They are precision machines. We'd need technicians."  
  "Mister Reed is quite capable at field repairs. And I'm certain a few Walter Mechanicals workers would be amenable to assisting."  
  "They're still so young."  
  "And so very able. Have you heard them play, lately?"  
  Which lead to a concert in the music room. The whole household dragged in to listen. Even Four, who usually stayed away. Iris suspected some nervousness on his part and held his hand through the entire concert.  
  The time flew. The staff and family erupted into applause.  
  Except for Four.  
  He applauded politely, but... by and large... the poor creature looked confused.  
  "What's the matter, dear?" she asked.  
  "I don't un-der-stand," Four complained mournfully. "They are all... sounds with-out mean-ing."  
  Of course. He had no knowledge of music.  
  He couldn't even appreciate it.  
  She whirled on her fiancee. "*PETER*!"  
  He flinched. "What did I do?"  
  "It's not what you did, dear, it's what you omitted. Poor dear Four is sadly lacking. He can't even understand a whistle. I simply must demand you see to the absence at once."  
  Assorted staff-members were hiding smirks and giggles behind their hands.  
  Colonel Walter had only one thing to say in his defence, "Yes, darling."  
  
  It was the first time the automatons were eager to assist in one of Peter's dreadful experiments. It was also the first time she actually needed the plethora of cushions all her boys insisted on fetching.  
  Life was only starting to get uncomfortable for her.  
  She had four months more of it to go.  
  "Ready, baby brother?" Three enthused.  
  "I am pre-pared."  
  "Rabbit?"  
  "Aye-aye, Pappy!"  
  "Spine?"  
  "Ready, sir."  
  Peter busied himself with dials and switches. "Coding in... basic data. Knowledge of tone and harmony. Appreciation of poetry... That should do it. First array, please, Mister Spine."  
  Switches and humming. Iris was no longer in a state to go rushing into disaster. She rubbed at her kicking infants and desperately tried not to fret.  
  He had done this four times before. But the machines... they sounded so very dangerous.  
  "Second array, Mister Rabbit!"  
  There was no need for her to be so scared of this procedure... yet she worried all the same.  
  "Here it goes!"  
  An ominous hum. A crackle in the air. The very disturbing twitching of Four on the slab.  
  And then, by degrees, descending silence.  
  Four's glowing blue eyes fluttered.  
  Rabbit chirped, very hesitantly.  
  Four brightened and whistled back.  
  And the room erupted in birdsong. It made the very air sweeter to breathe.  
  Iris levered herself up and hurried to embrace dear Peter. Her eyes moist with joy. "Do you hear it?"  
  "I can't very well avoid it," he smiled.  
  "This is what's been missing. Ever since they knew." She couldn't help but hold him close. Kiss him. "*Now* we're a family."  
  The brothers unleashed Four from his slab. Chirping and warbling all the way. And, Iris had to note, more than a little enthusiastic bouncing.  
  
  Peter forced himself to take a back seat. In more ways than one. This was their show. Not his. He only lent his name to it in order to give the show some semblance of aplomb. And already the crowds were gathering.  
  They would come to see the spectacle. Then they would come again for the music.  
  Peter was certain.  
  But that didn't stop his heart being in his mouth.  
  "Good morning folks, and wel-welcome to the show. I'm Rabbit, first and best of Colonel Wa-Walter's steam-powered automatons."  
  "Speak for yourself, Rabbit," said The Spine.  
  "Thank you, I was," grinned Rabbit.  
  The audience laughed.  
  "Good morning, I'm The Spine. And I was built with distinctive steam vents in my spine."  
  "And?" said Three.  
  "And what?"  
  "Is there more?" said Rabbit.  
  "No, that's -uh- that's my *back* story."  
  EUW!  
  Nobody had told him they were coming up with *puns*.  
  "And last but not least, there's Unit Three."  
  "Good afternoon."  
  Giggles.  
  "He doesn't have a real name yet."  
  "Don't give him one, he'll follow you home," warned Rabbit.  
  "He keeps following *us* home."  
  Mister Reed, as on-stage backup, cleared his throat meaningfully. "You're supposed to be playing?"  
  "What game are we playing?" asked Three.  
  "Uh, we're not playing a game, Three, we're playing a song."  
  "Oh right!"  
  "Well, without further ado--"  
  "Or a don't."  
  "One. Two. Three. Four."  
  
  Iris woke to the sight of four concerned metal faces watching her bulging belly. Her twins were having another fight, it felt like.  
  "Is she gonna explo--" The Spine silenced Rabbit with his hand.  
  "Your insides are tryin' ta be outsides," said Three.  
  Still half-asleep, she mumbled, "Oh, it's just the babies kicking, don't worry."  
  Chirp warble twitter.  
  One of their metal hands gently tried to still the kicking. "Why do you harm Miss Iris?" demanded The Spine.  
  "You should love your moth-er," added Four.  
  "Play nice," ordered Rabbit.  
  "Kicking is bad," added Three.  
  Iris levered herself halfway upright and carefully detached their curious metal hands. "One. They're *babies*. They can't understand you. Two. There's a high chance they don't hear very much anyway. Three..."  
  "Yes?"  
  "Not you, dear. Kicking is how we know the babies are healthy. They're getting exercise."  
  "Oooooooooohhhh..."  
  "Can you tell which one's doing what?"  
  "No. Right now, I'm feeling very worn out. Tell me how the day went."  
  "I went through three cheesecakes," grinned Three.  
  "Luckily, four produced them," added Peter, wriggling his way through the automatons. Finally through, he knelt to kiss and embrace her. "Giving you a tough time?"  
  "When I'm not eating, I'm sleeping. And I feel so heavy."  
  
  Peter helped her upright. Iris was petite, to begin with. Seven months along, her belly looked alarmingly large. No wonder Rabbit had asked about explosion. He could see the twins bumping and brutalizing her from the inside. Sometimes, shifting her whole middle around. Her every movement rendered her short of breath. And should she sit still, subtle grunts and moans.  
  "Do I start apologizing now, or must I wait until the labor?" he asked.  
  "Apologies in the form of chocolate are always acceptable," she smirked. "I'm overdue for a fortifying walk." Yawn. "And if I take it with you, there's a passing chance we won't have worried automatons following us."  
  Peter helped her up. Greeted her verticality with a kiss. And a caress over her burgeoning middle. "Sure you can walk that far?"  
  "Waddle, certainly," she grinned. "Women have been doing this for eons. Walking further. Carrying water. Puffing and waddling all the way. The more I walk, the more likely it is..." puff puff puff, "that there'll be a wedding."  
  The automatons all looked at each other. Worried tweeting erupting between them.  
  He decided on a slow stroll, holding her hand and watching for the slightest hint of trouble. And, despite the worries in his head, his heart still made him giddy. Holding hands with the love of his life on an evening stroll. The stars were bright and the fireflies were dancing. The crickets and the frogs turned the evening into music.  
  "What a beautiful night," he sighed.  
  "The view isn't terrible, either," Iris returned.  
  She was looking at him.  
  He smiled for her and drank in the sight of her in the moonlight. "Oh yes," he agreed. "The view *is* breathtaking."  
  Iris laughed. "Flattery may ensure your continued survival," she joked.  
  
  The automatons swarmed through the library. Gathering reference material and chirping amongst themselves. Half of their trouble was finding the definitions of the scientific terms.  
  Four did the reading. With his moustache brushing the pages as he laboriously made his way through various words.  
  Their concern for Four's photoreceptors could easily wait.  
  "Found another one," Three chirped. "It's got yucky pictures in it."  
  They gathered a pile of tomes on the central table. Read as fast as they could process the texts.  
  "Oh no," whispered Four. Out loud, he warbled, "I have lo-ca-ted wor-ry-ing in-for-ma-tion on twins."  
  One by one, each automaton peered over Four's shoulder. One by one, each vented excess amounts of steam. One by one, oily tears streaked metallic faces.  
  "That's gonna happen to Ma?" said Three.  
  "I think the word is 'might'," said The Spine.  
  Rabbit had his hands over his mouth. "I'm g-g-glad I ain't g-got *tho-those* pa-p-parts."  
  Four turned a page. All four automatons gasped in shock, retreating from the page.  
  "No!"  
  "No-not Ma!"  
  "This must not hap-pen."  
  Three started wailing.  
  
  Peter boggled at the automatons. All waiting by the door with worried expressions on their metal faces. And more than a dash of oil streaking their cheeks.  
  "We have done re-search," said Four.  
  "I-i-i-is Ma go-g-gonna...?" Rabbit twitched alarmingly and The Spine restrained him.  
  They had all seen what both death and green matter could do to the human body. They had seen the abominations of Becile. They had heard the screams as they burned the undead.  
  They didn't quite understand it, but they learned.  
  And they had learned of the dangers inherent in maternity all by themselves.  
  On one hand, he was scientifically proud of them. On the other hand... he had hoped to spare them this worry. Darling Iris didn't need five worried men trailing after her and fretting to pieces.  
  "Not if I have any say in things, Rabbit," he said.  
  "I'm doing everything I can to stay healthy," added Iris. "The healthier a mother is, the better her odds."  
  "And," said Peter, "I shall be hiring a midwife. A good, reputable midwife. The best."  
  "That will increase my odds further," Iris explained. "Have you all been reading the books in Pappy's library?"  
  Nods.  
  "Those books, my dears... they show all the things that can go wrong. And what to do if that ever happens. They rarely cover what goes right," explained Iris. She waddled over to the boys and comforted each of them in turn. "Which, I might add, is far more likely than any of the gruesome business in Pappy's books."  
  "We don't want bad things to happen," said The Spine.  
  "We wanna help," said Three.  
  "Me too," said Rabbit.  
  "Me three," said Four.  
  "You can't be Three, I'm Three," argued Three.  
  "He wasn't talking about you, dear."  
  "We have got to come up with some fitting names for those boys..."  
  Iris yawned so wide her jaw made a popping noise. "After dinner. I'm so tired."  
  
  The cheap seats were always packed. There were endless throngs of the greater masses who could afford a penny for some light entertainment. There were almost criminally few of the monetarily-endowed who would shell out a nickel for the front seats. Peter ruthlessly cut the numbers of nickel seats in half, moving the median seats forwards and expanding the arena for the penny chairs.  
  Iris, working on her own books at the neighbouring desk, reached over to tap his arm. "Did you know that we can save a small fortune if we just stop replacing doors that the boys break?"  
  "How's that?"  
  "Just this year, two hundred dollars' expenditure on doors. With a noticeable gap during the... unfortunate absence."  
  He peered over her shoulder. "Of course. We can cycle through the existing doors in the most important areas. What happens when we finally run out of doors? What if someone breaks in?"  
  "My darling Peter," she said in the same tones as anyone else would say, 'my poor dim boy'. "Do you honestly believe that *anyone* would be foolhardy enough to set foot in here without an invitation?"  
  "You have a point." He kissed her cheek. "We shall stop spending money on doors immediately. They just don't work with automatons around."  
  She laughed. "Its a good thing they don't go through walls."  
  "Don't give them any ideas," Peter whispered.  
  
  Iris woke in the very early morning to discover Rabbit in her pre-confinement Sunday Best. Posing and admiring the look in a mirror.  
  "Yes, Miss Rabbit," the automaton murmured, just on the edge of hearing. "You do look rather splendid, today."  
  It was natural for children to play in their parents' clothes, she supposed. This fancy would pass like any other, in time. "Do be careful," she managed to keep her voice low. "I'd like to fit back into that, someday."  
  Rabbit startled. Froze. Slowly turned to face her. Scurried over to kneel by the bed on her side. "Don't tell Pappy," came the urgent whisper. "He still thinks I'm a boy."  
  Well. That made a new pickle out of everything. "And you know differently?"  
  Rabbit nodded.  
  Iris patted her bald, copper head. "Well, then. What we need is proof, don't we? One way or another. Let's get that dress put away and we'll find something."  
  Rabbit was, according to her wishes, very careful with the dress. She also fretted over her 'boy clothes' as she put them back on.  
  Even getting out of bed left Iris short of breath. and the past weeks of pre-contractions didn't help, much, either. She waddled all the way to dear Peter's lab and started sorting the piles of paperwork his organised chaos created.  
  Rabbit helped. Carefully putting bits of paper into different piles.  
  And yet, her plans were nowhere to be seen.  
  She did find a doodle in some Cavulcadium notes. One of the alluring Miss Moreau's lectures, it looked like, judging by the number of times Peter had doodled variations of _Mrs Delilah Walter_ in any blank space.  
  And there was a concept sketch of his steam man band. Three musicians.  
  And one chanteuse.  
  This was not definitive proof. But it was a glimmer of hope for poor Rabbit.  
  "Here, dear, I fou--" That was a strong one. It knocked all the air out of her. "I found a beginning for you."  
  Rabbit looked, and then looked crestfallen. "It don't say who's who..."  
  "We can ask Pappy when he wakes up. After breakfast, I insist." She wrestled herself back upright. Started waddling back to the bedroom. "Dear Peter does have this way of ski--" Ooooh! It took her time to recover her breath. "...of skipping meals."  
  "You all right, Ma?"  
  "Just a little rougher than normal, dear. Do help me back to the bedroom, there's a good girl." They'd been so panicked even over the pre-contractions. Watching in hypnotised terror as her belly randomly tightened and then loosened again. She didn't need automatons panicking *now*.  
  Rabbit smiled at the 'there's a good girl' but fretted over her panting and low moans.  
  She had asked and asked and asked dear Peter for a plan to get the boys out of her hair when the time came. To date, she had heard no such plan.  
  It took a subjective age to get back to the bedroom. Another virtual eternity to rouse darling Peter. And a third to make him understand that the midwife was needed *urgently*.  
  And all she could think was, _Thank God that they're late._  
  Anyone who could count to nine would be calculating the babies' birthdays against their date of conception. Versus, of course, the length of her employ at the time such conception occurred.  
  She winced as another contraction knocked the breath out of her and tried to concentrate on anything other than the distinctive noise of an entire household in a hubbub.  
  She had to keep walking. Keep moving. Around and around the bed. Stopping only for contractions and rapid, giddy breaths.  
  Iris had neither the breath nor the time to tell anyone that she fully expected to be all day at this.  
  
  Peter sent Red Regret and Cookie down to fetch the best midwife in San Diego. He knew very little of childbirth. Most of it had been greatly forgotten since he had left college. He knew that clean towels and hot water were involved.  
  Hot water, they had a-plenty in the ensuite. Towels, on the other hand. He barked at the maids to gather all the clean towels in the master bedroom. Sent the boys fleeing across the entire house for any that the maids may have missed.  
  Went next to mad again for want of towels.  
  Because the love of his life was hurting and he could do nothing to help her but find enough towels.  
  The best midwife in San Diego was a reedy figure in a black dress and white pinafore and cap. She had dark skin and bright, calculating eyes.  
  "You must be the expectant father," she said. She was from England. The classier suburbs of London. "Do you have an ensuite?"  
  "Yes. And good soap," he panted. He'd just been running on another quest for towels. "You must help her. I can't lose another. I *can't*..."  
  The Spine held him steady. Rabbit and Four each took a hand.  
  "Pappy didn't take it well, when... a very good friend died," said The Spine.  
  Three just hugged the poor woman. "You'll save Ma, won't you? Won't you?"  
  She extracted herself from Three and held Peter's face in a vice-like grip. "I'm certain a gentleman like you has some project he can be busy with? Far away from the master bedroom?"  
  "Yes. Yes of course," he breathed.  
  "And it is something your..." a glance around at the automatons. "Boys... can assist you with?"  
  Realisation dawned. Neither his beloved Iris nor the midwife -Miss Green- needed five anxious boys crowding into their elbows or getting underfoot.  
  "Oh. Oh! Oh yes! Yes I do." He wriggled free of his metal sons and snagged the most capable and level-headed of his maids. "You must assist Miss Green with anything and everything she needs. Understood?"  
  She bobbed. "Sir."  
  Good. Good. He handed across the towels he'd been able to find. "I understand that these are necessary. I wish upon you every good fortune." This was real. This was happening. This was threatening the supply of oxygen to his brain. "Follow me, boys. I have an interesting experiment you can all help me with."  
  
  Rabbit dawdled, following the others.  
  Pappy had said 'boys'. And it sort-of hurt, this time. Every time she tried to tell Pappy, he pushed it off. Dismissed it. Called it nonsense. Called her his son.  
  The Spine doubled back to fetch her. "Something gone wrong?" he chirped in music-talk.  
  "He called me a boy again," Rabbit grumbled in kind. "Makes me feel all wrong."  
  "I know," warbled The Spine. "We'll find a way to convince him, you and I."  
  She'd never felt her heart soar so high. "You know?"  
  "I always knew," The Spine smiled. "And if it matters to you, Rabbit... I'm in your corner."  
  There never was a better hug. "Speak up for me a li'l, okay, dummins?"  
  "Yes, ma'am."  
  
  Finally. All four of them together. He'd already spread the plans across the wall that he didn't plan to cover.  
  "This is my Babbage Engine for Backup and Ontological Protection. He's going to look after you. Make certain you're maintained."  
  Rabbit held up a hand. "And you're sure he's gonna be a 'he'?"  
  "Now is *not* the time," he insisted. "We are going to work on this and stay out of the way, and celebrate when the babies are born." He'd seen it so often in his dreams. A boy and a girl. A son to inherit all his science and a daughter just as smart and as beautiful as dear Iris.  
  They would both teach her to break very many hearts in the Cavulcadium.  
  The boys chirped amongst each other as they worked together to assemble the giant automaton. More brain than body. And, thanks to arrangements like the Hall of Wires, he would 'see' the more independent automatons anywhere in the mansion. He woud be able to sense anything going amiss with his boys' mechanics. He would be able to raise the alarm if there were intruders.  
  He would, should the house become armed, also be able to control those arms as extensions of himself.  
  Once again, something had happened amongst the automatons. Rabbit's call-sign had changed by a few notes. He could hear it happening. First, The Spine used it. There was a small argument and then Three and Four adopted the new phrase.  
  He'd ask about it later.  
  Much later.  
  Should there be a great need for him to distract himself from the greatly agitating business going on upstairs. Births took hours, he knew. Best to keep himself and his mechanical sons busy and out of the way. Let Iris concentrate on the business at hand.  
  He busied his mind with betting internally which twin would be born first. The son or the daughter?  
  
  Rabbit crept away in the confusion. They'd been hours at building the BEBOP thinking and monitoring engine. She wanted to talk to Ma. She wanted to see the babies. She wanted to know if there was any hope at all about being a girl to anyone else at all.  
  But mostly, she wanted to make certain that Ma was going to be okay.  
  Despite what Ma said, Rabbit worried about the nasty things from Pappy's books. About the things that could happen to babies. About the things that could happen to twins. About the things that could happen to their mother.  
  She hadn't told anyone, yet, but there were times when she saw... things... when she was shut down for the night. Visions. Moving pictures in conflicting shades of green and blue. Things that had happened mixed with things that had never happened and things she was terrified would happen. They never made any sense when she re-activated, but when they were happening...  
  It was probably the wrong time to mention it, but in one of those visions, Ma had been amongst the screaming, green-tainted dead in the bonfires.  
  Rabbit wanted that to never-ever happen. And the only way she could make certain was to be there and look. Maybe even check the midwife's big bag for green matter. Just in case.  
  Pappy had enough to worry about with her brothers. Three had promised to make enough mayhem to guarantee Rabbit would not be missed. And The Spine could music-talk in both their preferred ranges.  
  Rabbit managed to avoid the maids and Bobby. She managed to avoid Retchitt, the family lawyer. She managed to avoid being seen, spotted, discovered and otherwise found out by everyone in the entire mansion. She was good at getting sneaky.  
  Ma was making hurt-noises. Really-hurt noises. Rabbit could hear Miss Green saying encouraging things and the maid fussing.  
  Rabbit edged inside.  
  Ma was soaked with sweat. The maid was trying to help Ma take a drink and Miss Green was under Ma's nightdress. She came back up and glared at Rabbit. "OUT! This is women's business. No one or no thing else!"  
  "I... I j-just..."  
  Ma gulped air. "Rabbitbelievesherself..." moan pant pant pant, "tobeagirl, MissGreen." Puff puff puff. "*And*she'sseenthehorrors..." Wince puff puff puff, "ofwar."  
  Miss Green looked her up and down. Frowned. "Girl you may be, but you're still a child. Ain't even a year old, I hear tell."  
  "Am t-too a year old," Rabbit protested.  
  "War's one thing, because you see the enemy hurt and dying. Birthing's another. You see the one you love most in pain and anguish and you can't do a blessed thing about it. It hurts you more. Do you understand?"  
  Rabbit nodded. "Ma's hurtin'. I wa-wa-wanna help."  
  "You can't make the pain go away, understand? We're helping her through it. It's never easy and it's never fast. It's always messy and it's always trouble. If you don't like that idea, you're welcome to get out."  
  Rabbit stayed put. "Ya got enough towels?"  
  Miss Green pointed to the enormous pile that dominated a good quarter of the bedroom. "I think we have plenty."  
  
  Peter was playing games with his own head. If the blue matter core for the backup and security engine went in without a bang, then his son would be born first. If the multiple Babbage brains worked without a hitch, the daughter would be the eldest. The boys were having fun, putting all the systems in. Some basic blue matter flamethrowers. Transportable to the site of trouble. Just in case.  
  They could rig the rest of the house with the transport rails.  
  All three of the boys were having immense fun putting together the BEBOP unit's gears.  
  Wait. Spine. Three. Four.  
  "Where's Rabbit?"  
  Chirp chirp?  
  Warble tweet.  
  Twitter twitter chirr.  
  "Uh... Rabbit... went," The Spine looked around. Fidgeting. "Uhm. Rabbit went... to... help?"  
  "Yeah. He's gone to help Cookie," invented Three.  
  "Ma needs soup," added Four.  
  Peter folded his arms. "You're all the worst liars I've ever encountered. How about we try the truth, this time?"  
  "Don't be mad?"  
  "Please do not be an-gry?"  
  The Spine sighed. "Rabbit went to help Ma-- Miss Iris. Sh-- He does not like hurt happening... Rabbit does not want to see Miss Iris in the box that goes underground."  
  Peter winced. There was no telling what was happening, right now. Some sort of chaos, no doubt.  
  
  Ma's arms were around her neck. Her arms were around Ma's chest. Rabbit could see Ma's big belly going tight in waves. Ma had ripped the curtains on her and Pappy's bed from pulling on them. The columns owned no purchase, but Rabbit did.  
  She already knew not to touch Ma's big middle. And if she shut her photoreceptors and sang any old tune that came to mind, she didn't have to listen to Ma's howling.  
  Ma kept patting the back of Rabbit's head, as if to say, _Thank you. The music's helping._  
  When a maid bought tea or soup, Rabbit would help her sip it whenever there was space to breathe. Which wasn't often, now.  
  "One more," chanted Miss Green. "One more."  
  "That's... five... onemore's..."  
  "Get whatever leverage you need, sweetie," smiled Mrs Green. "One more aught to get a head out."  
  Ma worked her ankles under her rump and spread her knees. Then she screamed.  
  "Good! Good! Gooooood!"  
  There was a muffled noise like a cat complaining about the rain.  
  "Almost there. And then you get a rest before baby number two. Looking nice."  
  "I am going," Ma panted, "to kill," puff puff pant, "someone."  
  "Pick Thadeus Becile," encouraged Rabbit. "He d-d-d-d-d-deserves it."  
  "That, we do not need," growled Miss Green. "Heave ho, lovey. Firstborn's almost here."  
  
  The new baby was red and had a pointy head and Rabbit wasn't allowed to touch him and Ma was gasping and gulping soup and looking halfway ready to pass out.  
  Miss Green had adjourned to the ensuite to pee.  
  Ma was looking after herself. The baby was sleeping. The maid had run off to ask his name for the paperwork.  
  So Rabbit crept around to ask Miss Green a question...  
  And discovered something that made her forget entirely what it was.  
  Because Miss Green was going pee like Pappy did. Holding onto her hose.  
  She startled when she saw Rabbit. "Something you'd like to share, copper toy?"  
  "You're a girl on the inside," Rabbit whispered. "Just like me."  
  
To Be Continued!


End file.
